Homecoming
by KsandraMallan
Summary: Companion piece to Not While I'm Around. Describes the events prior to Not While I'm Around. For those of you who liked the earlier piece, I hope you like this one... please review. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Lia returns! I actually think she's the most popular character I own… not bad for an emotionally disturbed, sometimes feral/sadistic psychic with holy-light-emitting eyes (now, at any rate) and enough power to level California. **

The moment my feet hit the LA sidewalk, I knew I was home. I inhaled the familiar smells of the city—then was interrupted by a loud, imperative meow from the cat carrier by my feet. "Okay, okay, I know you want out. Just hold on a second."

Another loud meow answered me as I opened the door and lifted out my cat, Ember, named for the silver splash of fur on his otherwise-black chest. He mewed happily at his release from the carrier as I kicked the cheap piece of plastic aside, then scooped up my satchel and headed for the airport parking lot to pick up my bike. It was a sleek black Ducati 990—I'd bought the machine secondhand, but after extensive modification, it worked like a dream and more.

The engine roared to life—slipping on a pair of shades and making sure Ember was safely in the kitty carrier I'd installed, I took off, heading for home.

I stopped by a few places before going down to Midnite's club near sundown. The protective glyphs on my bike glowed softly as I activated the ward—anyone trying to steal my bike would be on the receiving end of a very nasty backlash from my favorite protective spell. The bouncer held up a card—unlike five months ago, I didn't have to squint at it, barking, "Hippo in a tutu." as I brushed past.

Ember let out a tiny meow as I plunged into the club, then he hissed viciously. I spun and spotted a low-ranking male half-breed making his way toward me. "What do you want?" I growled impatiently.

"The bossss, he wantsss to ssssee you, Greeneyessss." The half-breed hissed sibilantly.

I pulled off my shades, staring directly at him—he flinched away. "No longer just _green_ eyes." When I judged that he was sufficiently cowed, I put them back on. "Lead the way, then."

Midnite was sitting at his desk waiting for me, six feet of African-witchdoctor-vibes and dead-black eyes. He nodded as I walked in—the half-breed shut the door as he greeted me. "Lia. Good to see you. How was New York?"

"Same as usual. In other words, teeming with scum." I dug into the pocket of my duster and handed him a pile of carefully wrapped packages. "Your items."

He inspected them impassively until he opened the largest package. It was a battered leather belt studded with glyphs and amulets. "The belt of Saint Catherine." I told him. "Way better than what you asked for."

Midnite continued examining the belt for a minute, then rewrapped it carefully. "Ten grand for the lot."

I snorted. "Are you kidding? I had to blast my way through two hells' worth of demons to get that belt. Twenty."

"Fifteen."

"Eighteen." I countered.

"Done." He pulled out a wad of bills fro a hidden place and handed them to me, before eyeing my sunglasses. "Why the shades?"

I removed them wordlessly—he nodded. "Interesting. Would you like the news from the area?"

"Tell." I put my shades on again, then scooped up Ember and sat down.

I didn't know if I was seeing things, but Midnite looked faintly uncomfortable. "John quit smoking." he finally said.

"_What_?!" I sat bolt upright, nearly dislodging Ember, who meowed at me to register his displeasure. Absently petting my cat, I stared at Midnite in utter shock. "What _did_ I miss?"

I sat there for the next hour as Midnite explained everything—the Spear of Destiny, Luciver's son, Gabriel's fall, Angela Dobson, And John's lung cancer being healed. Before I could ask about John, though, Midnite explained, "Dobson got posted to Miami as a promotion. She moved two months ago, a month after the incident. John hasn't been seen around here since."

"Shit." I swore, picking up Ember and making for the door. "I gotta get down there—God knows what he's done to himself—"

As I yanked open the door, I came face-to-face with none other than Gabriel. Ember hissed angrily and I snarled, "_You._" If vocal loathing could burn, Gabriel would have been incinerated on the spot.

Gabriel attemped a placating smile that only succeeded at increasing my ire. "Lianon. Greeneyes, it's good—"

I lashed out, catching him full across the face so hard the slap sounded like a point-blank range gunshot. Which, in a way, it was.

My handprint blooming crimson on his face, Gabriel looked me out of those blue eyes. "Would you explain that, Greeneyes?"

"_Explain_?" I hissed venomously, rage making my hands tremble. "You… you betray God and us, and you ask me to explain why I slap you?"

He hung his head slightly. "I deserved that."

"Damned straight you did!" I spat back.

An ironic, self-deprecating smile curved his lips. "John punched me. You slap me. I see a certain resemblance in the reactions."

"Oh, John decked you? Then maybe I should follow suit!" I drew back a fist—Ember leapt to the ground—but Midnite's big hand closed over my wrist. "Let go, Midnite!"

"Enough, Lia. He's no longer an angel, he got hit by you _and_ John—and he's been taking all kinds of grief in this dive. Let him live with his guilt." The older man said calmly.

I glared accusingly at the ex-angel, who lowered his gaze. "For the little that you probably think it's worth, Greeneyes, I'm very sorry."

Looking at the pathetic figure he cut, I softened. "Come here, and bend down a little." When he did, I focused a bit of power and drew a few Aramaic characters on his forehead.  
"The mark of Cain?" he asked wryly.

"No. My personal mark. It means you're under my protection. If those scum give you any crap, show 'em the mark and it should scare them off." I explained.

Gabriel touched the faintly glimmering mark. "Greeneyes—thank you for your mercy."

"Don't thank me just yet. I can still erase it." I growled.

"Ah. Then I am grateful that you even bestowed it." he replied, then crouched to hold out a hand to Ember. My cat hissed and slashed four parallel, bleeding grooves down the back of his hand.  
"It looks like he marked you too." Stifling a smile, I scooped up Ember, nodded to Midnite and headed out the door.

**To Be Continued**

**So what do you think? Leave a review and let me know?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks go to Samara13 for my _only_ review (hint hint). Angsty John in this chapter!**

The bike purred to a halt at the base of the apartment building. Ember poked his head out of the cat carrier—I locked the bike both physically and psychically, then picked up my cat and my satchel and headed toward John's apartment on the third floor.

When I approached the door, I frowned. The protective glyphs I'd etched into the doorframe were nearly completely faded. It was an incredibly easy ward to renew—two characters needed to be rewritten every month—and the fact that it _hadn't_ been renewed spoke volumes.

I inserted my key into the lock—as I opened the door lefthandedly, I renewed the ward with my right hand. Ember leaped from my arms, into the room, then miaowed unhappily. "What's wrong—" I stepped into the room and nearly recoiled from the reek of alcohol. "—oh, God!"

Finding the light switch in the hallway by memory, I flipped it on, then heard Ember meow again. This time, it was more of a questioning plea. I followed the sounds, squinting in the gloom—mentally swearing as I made out the shapes of alcohol bottles—then suddenly remembered my eyes. With a touch of power, I changed my vision very slightly so I could see better as I picked my way through the darkened apartment.

Ember meowed again, once again, more desperately—I glanced around, and saw him patting a huddled form with his forepaws. "John? Ember, come here—John?"

He was shirtless and barefoot, dressed only in a pair of battered black pants. "John, what in the world have you been doing?" I tossed my satchel aside and crossed the room to the man slumped at the table, my heart breaking as I saw how much weight he'd lost.

"Lia?" he rasped, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes. " 'm dreaming…"

"Why would you be dreaming?" I brushed hair off his face, stroked his cheek with the back of my fingers, felt the soft hairs catch on his rough stubble. "I said I'd come back once I finished, and here I am."

"I thought—" He blinked rapidly and swallowed, a childlike quivering of the lip betraying his pretense at being strong. "I thought you wouldn't come back. That you'd left me—" his voice cracked. "—alone."

I smoothed his hair back, trying hard not to retch at the reek of alcohol; Jack Daniels, if my eyes distinguished the bottles' shape correctly. "Hush, John." My hands trembled, much to my irritation. "You're drunk and need sleep."

"I thought you'd abandoned me like she did…" He finally gave in to tears, great racking sobs that shook his whole body.

"Shh, John, it's all right. Easy, it's okay, hush now…" I sank down on a chair and gathered him into my arms, my heart aching. "John, don't cry, I'm here, I promise I'm not going anywhere, I won't leave you here alone…"

It happened so suddenly—I wound up on a chair, his arms around my waist and his head buried in my lap. He clung to me like a drowning man, weeping with heaves that shook my entire body. Watching my best friend cry, I wept silent tears that moistened his hair where they fell but kept talking to him in a low murmur, soothing and reassuring.

"Let's get you something warm, John." I was finally aware of the chills ripping through him. Sliding out of my duster, I tucked it around his shoulders, then gently dislodged his death grip on my waist and eased him into a chair, before heading for the kitchen. "I'll only take a minute."

I heard a mumble of assent as I entered the kitchen—it was a mess, with alcohol bottles everywhere. Wrinkling my nose, I bagged the bottles for disposal then hunted up one of those instant soup mixes I'd bought for Chas. They tasted disgusting to me, but the kid—and John—seemed to like them. I grabbed the first packet my fingers found, then mixed it up before carrying the mug out to place it in front of John.

"Thanks." Still clutching my duster, he extended a hand toward the chipped, plain ceramic mug; his hand was trembling. Seeing that, I scooted a chair closer and wrapped my hand around his on the mug, helping him left it—the glance he shot me was supposed to be scathing, but ended up being more petulant than anything else. "Lia, you're fussing."

"Good thing, too, or I don't think you'd be able to lift that mug." I retorted. "When did you last eat? Oh, and alcohol doesn't count as food."

"M'be two days…" he mumbled. "M'be more. Dunno."

"Looks like five days or more to me, boy." I shot back. "Come on, drink."

He did as I ordered, finishing the mug before turning to look at me. " 'm glad you're back. Glad you didn't leave me—"

"Dobson may have left you, but I never will." I murmured, squeezing his hand.

"—alone forever." John finished, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

"There's never a forever thing." I said softly as I tugged him up, supporting him into the bedroom. "Come now, let's get you into a bed."

He climbed onto the bed obediently, but pulled out a folded blanket and handed it to me. "It's your favorite one."

"Thanks, dearest." I gently covered him with his own blanket, then sat up—he grabbed my hand desperately. "Don't leave… please?"

"I won't." I pulled him close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders—then had an idea. I knew he like hearing my voice—and there was only one song going through my mind.

"_Dearest…_" As I sang the first line, John nuzzled against me with a sigh.

"_Dry your eyes now_

_Don't you cry_

_It's all right_

_Lie back_

_Leave the lights on_

_It's all right, dear_

_I'll be here through the night_

_With you till the first signs of light_

_Say the word and I'll come tonight"_

I saw a childlike quivering in his lower lip as a tear slid down his cheek—he shifted to lay his head on my thigh, I wove my fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

"_It's all right now_

_Don't you cry now_

_Hush…_"

With my free ahand, I rubbed the tense muscles in his shoulder and neck, feeling the tension begin to drain from his body.

"_Wipe your tears away_

_There's never a forever thing_

_All through the night_

_I'll try so hard to be there somehow_

_With you till the first signs of light_

_Say the word and I'll come tonight_

_Darling, don't you_

_Cry.._"

John was asleep, breathing easily, his cheek pillowed on my leg, cuddled up against me. I stroked his hair, then flipped off the lights and settled back against the headboard to rest.

**To Be Continued**

The song used here is "There's Never A Forever Thing", by Three Doors Down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, I'm so sorry for the delay… lots of Les Miserables referencing in this chapter. Enjoy!**

Despite the night spent in an uncomfortable position, I was awake by seven and cleaning out the apartment, disposing of all the alcohol bottles and hunting up some edible food. As a result, I was sitting on the couch with the blinds up and my shades on, reading the newspaper, when John left the room, barefoot and rumpled. "Good morning." I called—he turned his head to regard me out of sleepy dark eyes.

"Good, then it wasn't a dream." He commented with a yawn.

"What was?" I smiled and scooted over as he joined me with a cup of black coffee.

"I remember falling asleep on you. I woke up and you weren't there. I'm glad you didn't dream it all." he explained.

"Me too." I flashed him a grin, which got larger when he replied in kind. Ember jumped onto John's lap with a mew, batting at the man's fingertips playfully.

We sat in silence for a while, before he asked, "How was New York?"

I groaned. "_Nobody_ could decipher my father's will—it looked like a whole lot of gibberish and a note that said 'Look to the _abaissé_ society.' Everyone was looking up all these random charities because _abaissé_ means 'abased' in French—I would have followed suit if I hadn't accidentally read the note aloud."

"So what did the note mean?" John asked.

"Dad was always a Les Miserables fan. The '_abaissé_ society' was a reference to the students' name for themselves, the ABC society. A French pun. But afer I realized he was referring to Les Mis, the decryption key became clear."

"Let me guess—24601."

"Right. Starting with the first word, 'I', you skip two, take that word, .skip four, take that word, skip six, take the next two words, skip one, then take that word and start again from the 'skip two' bit."

"That sounds confusing." John commented. "So what did it say?"

"Half a page's worth of nonsense said, 'I bet nobody will get this far, but if they do, I leave everything to the person who found this message first. Tell my daughter Enjolras wants to speak to her.'" I chuckled at the memory of the surprised looks. "That meant I ended up inheriting everything Dad left behind."

"What did your dad mean by 'Enjolras wants to speak to her'?" John asked.

"He left a letter—letters, actually—in his copy of Les Mis, at page 437 of Volume I, the beginning of Book Four, at the description of Enjolras. He knew that was one of my favorite passages." I slid my hand into the pocket of my duster, touching the packet of letters.

John nodded, stroking Ember gently. "I liked your old man."

"He liked you too." I smiled at my best friend. "He told me to take care of you."

"I don't need to be taken care of." He protested.

In reply, I arched an eyebrow. "Then what was last night? It sure as hell looked like you needed to be taken care of."

He made no reply, but gave me a quick, affectionate hug. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," I gently brushed my cheek against his, then felt his fingers tracing the outline of the sunglasses on my skin.

"Why're you wearing those?" he murmured.

"Something weird happened in New York during a golem exorcism. It went wrong, and the golem was going to hammer me into the ground when this blast of light hit us both and I blacked out. When I woke up, the golem was slagged and I had _these_." I removed the sunglasses and gave him an eyeful.

He held my gaze for a while, then flashed a wry gin. "They won't be calling you Greeneyes now, not with those gold flecks."

"Most people are afraid of my eyes—bright green was unnerving, but now gold on emerald scares the shit out of them." I noted bitterly.

"_I_ like it," John protested mildly. "Gold on green, framed and centered by black—" he tugged on a piece of my hair. "—it's very you. It's beautiful. Don't wear the sunglasses."

"As you wish." I put the sunglasses into my duster pocket, then smiled at him.

We lived together like that for the next few weeks, just recharging, enjoying each other's company, and building our life back to what it had been before.

One afternoon when John was out, I left for the small church where Chas had been buried. I wasn't Catholic—John and I differed on fundamental principles of exorcism, but we both acknowledged the merits of the other method, and so we worked together fairly cohesively.

I was nearly sunset when I pulled my bike up outside the church. The graveyard's old caretaker directed me to Chas' grave—he looked a little uneasy at the sudden appearance of a stranger in a black trenchcoat and shades, but he let me in anyway.

Chas' headstone was simple, a block of granite with his name and the dates on it. In the niche for flowers, I saw something small and silvery. Kneeling, I stuck a hand in—and came out with John's silver cigarette lighter. It still smelled faintly of cigarettes. Carefully, I put it back.

The grass was soft around the grave—slipping off my coat, I sat down beside the headstone. "Hey, Chas." I spoke softly, watching the sun set. "How're you doing, little buddy? I just came home… I would've come sooner, but John needed me."

I sighed, leaning against the headstone. "I was looking forward to coming back to you and John, ya know that? I wanted to come back and go back to work with you guys, driving around in that crazy taxi… but I come back to a grave and a man trying to drink himself into oblivion."

"Oh, Chas… why? Why weren't you more careful? Why were you so eager to get into our line of work? You knew you couldn't match John or I in terms of sheer power, you knew that… so why?"

I rubbed a hand over my face sadly. "I don't know. If I'd been here, could I have save you? I might have been able to keep you alive."

A soft wind ruffled the grass and teased at my hair. I sighed again, climbing to my feet and shrugging into my coat. "I gotta go, Chas. But I'll come back and talk to you, I promise."

Gently patting the headstone, I laid the white lily on the grave and left the graveyard without a backward glance. The wind played with my duster edge, whipping the leather around my legs as I walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**The last and final chapter of this story. Thanks to everyone for their support and lovely reviews! **

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Do own, don't copy (without permission). **

**Author's note: in this chapter, there will be a LOT of Dobson-bashing. If you like Angela Dobson, I advise you to beware. I do _not_ like her. At all. **

Things were quiet for the next few weeks—John appeared to be regaining some of his old spirit, and the shadows under his eyes were fading.

One afternoon, John had left to settle some financial business, leaving Ember and I at home. I was reading a book on the battered couch when someone knocked at the door. When I stood up, Ember jumped into my spot and curled up for a nap. I mock-glared at my cat as I opened the door—

—and came face to face with an unfamiliar woman. "Uh, is John Constantine here?" she asked.

I glanced her over quickly—I had reflexively slipped my shades on, and I _knew_ she was unnerved by not being able to see my eyes. A filmy white blouse, low-ride jeans, impossibly flimsy little slippers, and artfully disheveled hair—I took an instant and violent dislike to her. "He's not around right now. Forgive my bluntness, but who the hell are you?"

Taken aback by my brusque question, she tried to cover it with a bland, sugary smile. "I'm Angela Dobson. You must be Lia. John told me so much about you."

_If you're really Dobson, I now have more than enough reason to utterly despise you. _I glanced coldly at her offered hand—then noticed the engagement ring on the other hand. "How's Miami?"

She was clearly discomfited by how much I apparently knew. _What if she knew I was taking potshots in the dark? _"Oh, great. I ran into my college boyfriend and we're now engaged."

"Ah." I clenched my fists behind me, keeping me from punching her or I'd send her through the opposite wall. "**S**o nice to be back, isn't it? **L**ovely weather we're having. **U**nbelievably nice. **T**hat blouse suits you." (A/N 1)

Either she was stupid or unused to sarcasm, and I was leaning heavily toward the first one. "Um, yeah. I was in the area to see a friend and though I'd come see John."

"He's not here." I told her curtly.

Dobson looked uneasy, but glanced past me into the house. "Can I—go inside and pick up something?"

"All right." She brushed past me—a sweet smell rose to my nose and I snorted, trying to rid my nose of the smell before I became _too_ nauseated.

"I've read about your cases, Lia—you're famous in LA as an exorcist, but not as infamous as John." When I didn't smile at the feeble joke, her smile faded and she went on. "Where were you during the… uh… events of the last few months?"

"My father passed away in New York. I had to go to the funeral and take part in a treasure hunt to decipher his will." Walking toward her, I casually slid off my shades as I kept talking. "Did a few exorcisms and got a new outlook on life."

"Pardon?" She looked genuinely confused.

"_These_." I stared her in the eye and smiled mentally when she recoiled then did a poor job of disguising the recoil.

There was a long tense silence—to hide my growing irritation, I picked up Ember and began stroking him as Dobson tried to make small talk.

My temper finally exploded when she said, "I wonder if John would have been here if he had known I was coming."

"No, he wouldn't!" I snarled, advancing on her like an enraged tiger. "Do you know what you did to him? You make him feel like he's able to hold a non-psychic friend—I don't give a damn how much potential you might have, it's not worth shit unless you use it—you make him feel like _maybe_ he's not cursed—and then you turn around and do a damned Mexican hat dance on his heart!"

"Lianon—" she attempted to placate me, but I was in full swing and there was nothing short of a nuclear explosion that would stop me now. Ember meowed, jumping down from my arms and curling up on the couch again.

"Why did you even come back? You left, you damned abandoned him, and now you come back and act like everything is OK and we should just accept you back? I came back a month ago and found my best friend trying to drink himself into oblivion! He hadn't eaten in three damn days! And as for sleeping, I don't know how much he did _that _outside of unconsciousness! _I_ was the one easing him back to reality—_I _was the one who held him when he screamed or cried at night—_I_ cried over his swollen eyes and thin body—what would _you_ know about John?" I was yelling, my entire body trembling with rage.

Anger flashed in her eyes; I secretly hoped she'd give me an excuse to hit her. "I—I know John well enough!"

"Oh, you do? Do you know why he wakes up screaming at night? Do you know his expression when he's trying not to laugh?" I shot back.

"I know—" she began, but I cut her off coldly.

"_You_, my dear, know _nothing_ about John. Don't pretend you do." I spat.

Dobson took a step backward. "Why do you hate me so much?"

The question took me by surprise, but I hardened my stare. "Because you gave John hope, and then you shattered his heart. You devastated him. For that, I hate you and can never forgive you."

She stepped backward again—I recognized the wounded-martyr look and spoke to squash it quickly. "Just go. You gave up your place here—you have no place here now."

"I'm sorry," Dobson said softly. "I understand how much you care about John…"

I barked a sharp laugh. "No, you don't. You're just saying that to have something to say. Get out. Just get out of the house. Get out of our lives."

"Goodbye, then." Instead of leaving, she still stood there, looking at me like a fool.

My fists were clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms as I fought to keep from punching her. "Are you waiting for a gilt-edged invitation?" I inquired in my most sarcastically sweet tone.

"I just—" she began—then I truly erupted.

"GET OUT! GET OUT, DAMN YOU! YOU NEVER BELONGED, AND YOU SURE AS HELL DON'T BELONG NOW! JUST GET OUT!"

She'd scrambled through the door when I'd started shouting, but gave me a long look. "Maybe we'll meet again."

I snorted, knowing it would ruin her dramatic exit. "God forbid. I never want to see your face again, in this life or any others that might come after it."

She opened her mouth to say something—then decided against it, closed her mouth, and left. I slammed the door, then stared fixedly at the wood, forcing my adrenaline to subside. Ember mewed questioningly—I petted him. "It's okay, little buddy. Just taking out the trash."

When John returned, I was calmly reading on the couch. "You finished?" Swinging my legs off the couch, I smiled up at him, closing the book and laying it aside.

He flopped down on the couch, closing his eyes and running his hand through his already-rumpled hair. "Yeah. Finally. I bought Thai, by the way."

I stood up, depositing a purring Ember into his lap. "You keep my cat happy, and I'll get us the food. Deal?"

"Done." He tickled Ember's ears—with a purr, Ember rolled onto his back, batting at John's fingers.

A few minutes later, I came back with the white takeout containers and settled in on one end of the couch. John was staring around the room, a slight frown wrinkling his brow. "What is it?" I peeled open my container carefully.

"There's a weird smell in here," he commented. "Do you know what's causing it?"

"If it's nauseatingly sweet—" I swallowed my bite of food, then continued. "—then it's Dobson's perfume."

"Angela was here? When?" His grip on my wrist was painfully tight.

"When you were out. Let go." When he didn't release me, I calmly pried his fingers off. "She said she came back to get something, but she was dressed like someone from the red-light district and smelled like a perfumery."

John began to yell "Why—" but reconsidered and spoke with forced calm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you didn't ask."

"No, seriously. Why?"

"Because—never mind." I wasn't about to break the news—and break his heart again.

He put down his fork and fixed me with a dark-eyed stare that was reputedly able to punch through concrete—however, when met by my gold-on-green gaze, it wilted miserably. Realizing he couldn't outstare me, John decided to try a different tack. "Tell me. Please?"

I closed my eyes, trying to find the words. "She…she's getting married. To her college sweetheart. I—I'm sorry, John. Now you know why I didn't want to tell you."

Wordlessly, he ate another bite, then tossed down his fork and headed for the bedroom. I warded our food to keep it safe from Ember, then followed him.

John was sitting on the bed, staring woodenly into nothing—I climbed on to the bed and pulled him to me. He had a two-inch height advantage, but many people (and demons) underestimated my physical strength. Even as he grumpily protested, I drew him into a comforting hug. "Oh, _mon ami_, I'm so sorry…"

"Why?" he whispered brokenly. "Why am I cursed like this?"

"Hush, _mon ami_…" I murmured, but he kept speaking.

"I think I _am_ cursed. Why can't I hold a regular friend for even two months?"

"You've still got me, John." I gently ran my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. "I'll always be here when you need me."

"I know," he whispered, nestling in close. "I know."

"She's gone. I'm sorry I couldn't be here… I am so sorry."

John sat upright with a snort, dark eyes blazing. "It wasn't your fault, Lia, so quit apologizing." He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, gently squeezing. "You're too responsible, sweetheart. You always try to take responsibility for _everything_, even those things you can't change."

"Probably." I shrugged—as my best friend gave me a back rub, I leaned into his touch, purring like a contented cat.

He chuckled, continuing to massage my tense muscles. "You've missed this, haven't you?"

"Damned right." I shook myself, feeling the muscles ripple pleasantly.

"Look, Lia… we've both been through so much… can we go back to what we were before all this?" John's voice was quiet and slightly plaintive.

"Yes." I closed my eyes, luxuriating in John's familiar scent as he hugged me. "Of course. You and I—partners again and forever."

"Mm." John squeezed gently—I hugged him back, mussing up his hair, then climbing off the bed.

"Come on, partner mine, or Ember will have eaten both my food and yours by now."

**Finis… for now.**

A/N 1: Did anyone _get_ this line? Hint: read the bolded letters… grin It belongs to Mookie, creator of the excellent webcomic Dominic Deegan ( This particular line has been modified; it can be found at:  The comic's worth a couple hours.

**And that's that for this story. Apologies for the horrible ending… Thank you to everyone who reviewed—I really appreciate it. Lia and John _will_ return, I promise—but I need ideas on how to get the two of them together! (I am not very good at romance… sorry…) The idea that I like most will be maybe modified and then used for the next serious Constantine piece I do! **


End file.
